


Trust and Understanding

by Quiddity



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, like this is almost gen, really light keitor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-10-30
Packaged: 2019-01-26 11:12:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12556160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quiddity/pseuds/Quiddity
Summary: "Yield-" Lotor growls. He holds his hand palm out while he sheathes his sword with the other. "I yield." Keith lets his bayard disappear, grips his bleeding arm, and wonders if he's going to have to deal with an angry prince."Sorry," he says. Should he go? Tell someone he'd somehow maybe injured Lotor enough to put him into a healing pod about five minutes after meeting him face to face? Was he on a hit list now? "I was just kinda... working on instinct there. Is- is it bad?""Oh, no, you hardly nicked me," Lotor says. He gives the blood on his hand a curious glance, wipes it into the dark fabric of his shirt before he reaches back and pulls open his collar by the clasp at the back, tugging at the zipper that runs along his spine until he can push the fabric down his arms until it's all bunched around his slender hips. Lotor turns lightly and a couple lines of bright red blood dribble down of the faint curve of his hip and into his suit. It's a long, but thin line just above the point of his hip bone. "It looks worse than it actually is, I think. But more importantly, who taught you that little trick?" Lotor asks.





	Trust and Understanding

The first thought that comes through his mind isn't Here's the enemy I've been avoiding, it's This is the man who saved my life. It flows freely to the top of his mind. A simple fact of unexpected importance, something known only to himself and a handful of rebels he hardly talks to.

Lotor barely glances at him as he comes into the training room and while Keith tries to tell himself that he's not paying attention either he somehow knows that Lotor lingers by the wall long enough to gather up his hair into a hastily tucked together bun at the nape of his neck. That, like Keith, he's not dressed in his full armor, but rather just the thick, tight fitting black suit typically worn beneath the heavier pieces.  Keith turns away with such a firm mental wrench to his attention that he sneers, acting like he's testing the weight of his bayard's blade and telling himself he needs to practice with it more often even if he's working primarily with the Marmora now.

"You don't like seeing me then?" Lotor calls, and goosebumps crawl up Keith's back. Two thoughts pass by him quickly. First, of course, how could he expect Lotor, Prince of the Fucking Galra, Exile or Not, to completely ignore the only other person in the room when he's been pointedly avoiding him for a few weeks at this point like two strangers at the gym. Second, his voice is somehow different but exactly like what he would have expected. That stupid, posh accent is still there but sure, Keith can instantly tell that when he's talking to Voltron over the comms as an enemy, he puts on some theatrics. Keith glances at him over his shoulder, a snide remark on his lips.

"I, uh- what do you want?" he says. He kicks himself. Then he kicks himself harder when Lotor laughs, a soft, silky sound that sends another wave of goosebumps over him instead of irritating him like he would have expected. He turns, grips his bayard though he keeps the blade at his side. Lotor flashes sharp canines and answers by pulling his own sword from his scabbard.

The ten or so feet between them disappear fast. Keith twitches up his bayard and their weapons meet with such a vicious clang that sparks fly and Keith feels his bones shudder all the way up into his shoulder. Lotor laughs and the next time he swings Keith is ready for him. He steps back, catches the blade with his own and deflects it off to the side.

Forget about Lotor being a prince. It only takes him a couple of seconds to make it abundantly clear that he's Galra. As calculating as he is both in and out of battle, it falls away to something more primal at close quarters. His swings are tight and elegant, but vicious, wearing at Keith's endurance. He isn't content with a little ground; he wants the full step, then another, and another. Keith can't get his arm out and do those powerful arcs he feels most comfortable with. His sword has to be kept close in front of him almost like a shield, and God he really wants to just pull that actual shield from his suit but that's little more than a fleeting thought. Lotor already has him playing defense; a shield now would be admitting defeat.

The next swing from the right and for his sword arm and Keith works on instinct. He knows Lotor is expecting to push him in the same direction as his momentum, so Keith just does the opposite. Instead of stepping with the blow to alleviate the strain on his arm, he steps into it. His arm twists and for a split second his elbow pulls worryingly, but then another instinct flashes through him and he has no choice but to follow it: he lets go of his weapon.

It drops a little, the handle turning to the side as Lotor's swings continues from right to left. Keith jerks his left hand up for the handle. It's not perfect; this isn't something Keith is exactly used to or even really thinking about, but he gets his middle three fingers around it well enough to hold on tight when the tip of Lotor's blade jams into the meat of his bicep. Keith hisses, twists away a little but he's done well enough. Lotor's eyes are wide. He surprised and Keith doesn't hesitate. He makes a half length, half strength swing because that's all he has time for to slip his own sword beneath Lotor's weapon and slap him just above the hip.

Much of the fight goes out of him quickly. Lotor grunts, steps back, his sword still held up to block Keith's next blow in case it comes. But Keith sees the way Lotor's muscles loosen, how his free hand wants to drop to the bloody tear in his suit and he's already taking the pause to put an extra step between them. "Yield-" Lotor growls. He holds his hand palm out while he sheathes his sword with the other. "I yield." Keith lets his bayard disappear, grips his bleeding arm, and wonders if he's going to have to deal with an angry prince.

But to his surprise, Lotor chuckles through clenched teeth as he presses his hands hard to his side. Keith frowns at the bloody smear on Lotor's hand when he pulls it away again. "Sorry," he says. Should he go? Tell someone he'd somehow maybe injured Lotor enough to put him into a healing pod about five minutes after meeting him face to face? Was he on a hit list now? "I was just kinda... working on instinct there. Is- is it bad?"

"Oh, no, you hardly nicked me," Lotor says. He gives the blood on his hand a curious glance, wipes it into the dark fabric of his shirt before he reaches back and pulls open his collar by the clasp at the back, tugging at the zipper that runs along his spine until he can push the fabric down his arms until it's all bunched around his slender hips. He's only a bit stockier than Lance and doesn't have quite as much leg but there's something in the fluid way his muscles move under soft, purple skin, marred only with a few faint whitish scars, that makes him warm suspiciously. Lotor turns lightly and a couple lines of bright red blood dribble down of the faint curve of his hip and into his suit. It's a long, but thin line just above the point of his hip bone. "It looks worse than it actually is, I think. But more importantly, who taught you that little trick?" Lotor asks.

"Nobody," Keith says simply. Lotor's eyes narrow. Keith feels blood sticking between his fingers and the wound throbs with his heartbeat.

"Bullshit," Lotor says. Keith watches him swipe a thumb absently across the thin cut on his hip. "Who taught you to use a sword then?" Keith shrugs, feeling a little self conscious.

"Still, nobody. For the most part, I taught myself," Keith says. Lotor smirks and Keith is struck by how much easier his blue eyes are to read than most of the other Galra he's met. Right now, they soften with something Keith thinks might be understanding.

"Just always had a weapon in your hand," Lotor adds. It's not a question this time. It's a statement, said almost softly and Keith doesn't have it in him to either confirm or deny it. Instead he drags his eyes off of Lotor and towards the door.

"You should get that checked out even if it isn't that bad. It's still bleeding." Keith doesn't wait and starts towards the door. Lotor follows him closely and when Keith glances at him over his shoulder, Lotor's grinning, showing sharp teeth.

"Show me the way; no one's given me a reason to go the med bay yet."

* * *

 

Lotor is always, always surprising him. He takes to human culture like a fish takes to water. He picks up on some of their human slang and the more casual nuances of English remarkably quick. He adores Kaltenecker, though the milkshake Hunk had given had made him brutally sick. He's quiet, but his sense of humor is so slight and cunning his jokes slip between his ribs like a weapon. But the biggest surprise of all comes in just how much Keith likes him.

For all his life Keith had simply taken it as a matter of fact that he just wasn't meant to have friends. He'd heard that making a real friend was like starting a conversation, and the conversation simply never really ending. Before the Galaxy Garrison, before meeting Shiro, Keith would have thought the idea was asinine. After Shiro, it had been a begrudging admittance that okay, maybe he would experience the feeling of a deep friendship once in his life. Only once.

Lotor surprises him by proving that's wrong too.

* * *

 

"You're not like the others," Lotor says. His words cut through the long silence hanging in the bridge of the castleship. Keith had come in here nearly twenty minutes ago because he couldn't sleep and when he'd seen Lotor already there he had done something strange even to himself. Instead of turning around and slinking back to his room like he typically would have, he had simply sat in his chair and joined in on watching the inky sea of stars inch past the windows.

Keith pulls his eyes from the universe to glance to Lotor who's been standing at one of the windows for who even knew how long. He stares, tries to pick apart Lotor's expression and finds that, as always, he might as well be trying to read a strangers mind when Lotor doesn't want to be read. "What do you mean?" he asks. Lotor's eyes meet his, brows drawn in with thought. Keith shifts in his chair and the realization that Lotor's features are more delicate than he had thought butts against the curiosity and, yeah, the slight thrill, of Lotor thinking about him.

"I mean-" Lotor breathes sharply. "Hell, how do I put it." Keith is a little amused hearing how easily Lotor slides human curses into his speech, and though he's undoubtedly far older than even the oldest human, he's starting to sound just about as young as he looks. "You understand me."

Keith very nearly asks him if he's sure, because he very much doubts that. Sure, Lotor's proven to be startlingly easy to get along with the past couple weeks since he's met him face to face. But Keith barely understands himself. Much less the Galra, much less their exiled prince. Keith opens his mouth, tries to think of something a little more eloquent than 'I have no idea what you're talking about', but Lotor continues for him.

"Nobody else here knows what it's like to not be able to trust anyone," Lotor says softly. Keith stiffens, a little piece of him bucking at the idea. He can trust lots of people. Team Voltron, the Blade of Marmora. Shiro comes to mind, but something, something deep in him, whispers that that's not quite accurate. Keith isn't a part of Voltron right now. He has no lion and none of them had clung to him when he wanted to work separately. Kolivan did his best but if it really came to it, Keith didn't doubt that he'd be left to die if he really fucked up on a mission. The Shiro he knows in space isn't the same person he knew back in the Garrison. He has a handful of people he can trust with his life.

But he knows that none of it is unconditional.

It hits him harder than he had expected. Keith frowns deeply, sinks into his chair and tries very hard to not let the swirl of his thoughts show in his eyes. His fingers knit together and just defaults to saying the first thing he thinks of. "You don't trust me?"

It's a stupid question. He knows the answer even before Lotor's shoulders relax and he smiles like Keith's asked him something funny. "Liking you and trusting you are two entirely different things, tiger," Lotor says. Keith's mouth drops at the pet name but Lotor stalks over like he's landed a successful blow. He stops beside Keith's chair, brushing the pads of his fingers through Keith's hair before he leans on the headrest. "Ah, I guess Lance was right when he told me you'd like that. You don't look quite so troubled anymore."

You don't even know what a tiger is, Keith thinks. But he just rolls his eyes. "You were getting really serious there for a minute."

"But I'm right?" Lotor asks, not quite a question.  

"Yeah, I guess so. I don't know," Keith says. He pushes up out of his chair. He couldn't sleep, but Lotor's still making him think far too hard for how late it is. There's a thin line between suffering an enemy in home base and outright trying to stab them in the back. Just like how Keith can apparently befriend the very person he'd been hunting relentlessly for months just because he's the only one not willing to kill him on sight. "I'm... uh, going to bed." Keith says. His brain feels like it's working overtime.

"Ah, somehow I keep forgetting nuance isn't your strong suit," Lotor digs as he follows Keith out into the hall. Keith glares, but can't muster much heat for it.

"And somehow you never, ever let me forget that you're especially good at being an asshole," Keith breathes. He turns left down the hall, away from the barracks and towards the training room instead. Lotor's laugh is soft and rich enough to roll over Keith's skin.

"Best of three then."

It seemed he wasn't getting away so easily.

* * *

 

He hadn't been scared when Lotor had grabbed him by the hood of his Marmora suit and led him down towards the hangars. Maybe he should have been. The others were already out past the particle barrier fighting off a Galra fleet that had taken them by surprise in the middle of the night. Aside from Coran working on the bridge, it was only the two of them on the ship when Lotor had pushed him against the door to his ship's hangar and demanded he put in the code to open with a breathless urgency.

Keith had done so, and he hadn't even asked why. Lotor didn't give him a chance to. He had merely pointed to the back cockpit and ordered him to get in. Keith was buckling himself in now partly because if Lotor was going anywhere, he wouldn't be letting him run off on his own, and partly because he had been salivating over the chance to pilot this new alien craft since he'd first laid eyes on it.

"I had this made with Voltron in mind," Lotor says. His voice filters in through the communication system in his mask crisp and clear. "I wouldn't expect you to have too much trouble with two pilots when you've flown with five." Keith glances around the cockpit and finds it more reminiscent of the Galra craft he's come across than any of the lions. Familiar enough. He presses his hand to the console and the displays come to life. Not in the harsh red he'd been expecting, but rather a rich blue.

"If it's something that can be piloted, I can figure it out," Keith says easily. The ship starts to rumble as Lotor turns on the engines and they begin winding up, so Keith leaves it to him. With a bit of searching, he manages to pull up the radar instead. There's a tiny gap around them where the particle barrier is, but beyond that warms a sea of red enemy craft. If he looks closely he can occasionally catch one of the lions cutting through them, but it's not enough to make a real dent.

When they catch him out there providing backup with Lotor, of all people, they're going to rip into him, his help needed or not.

"Really, tiger? You think you're good enough to prove that?" Lotor says, like he thinks it's funny that the one thing Keith is absolutely confident in is his flying. Keith doesn't bite. Instead, he puts in a second code into the ship to open the hangar doors as Lotor lifts the craft off the ground. He'll have to change those as well when they return.

"I don't know. Are you ready to prove you can be let off your leash long enough to keep us around?" Keith asks. He grips the controls. They feel good, almost as natural as the lions. "If I remember it right, we're the only ones not quite ready to turn you into a trophy."

"We'll just have to see, won't we then," Lotor purrs as the hangar doors open and Keith sees the black skyscape outside blooming into a field of bright explosions. His blood pumps strong, itching to be let out and fight to his heart's content. Lotor shifts and the ship rips out of the hangar so fast Keith is pushed into his seat. He's shivering in excitement as they join the fray.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my god I haven't posted anything in nearly a month. I'm still 100% trying to learn how to write Lotor.


End file.
